


Pillow Talk Goes Awry

by Anonymous



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Xabi talks through sex and not the dirty kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk Goes Awry

 Stevie's got him: pressed, flush up against the door frame. He fumbles around trying to pull out a key-- _no not that one-- uh--_ and bites down on Xabi where the warm flesh of his neck meets his clavicle. Bearing down on the insistent throb of a heated pulse are Steven's teeth: dexterous and determined. His molars are seeking to converge on this man's rushing blood with some kind of point to prove. And he's pretty sure that the point was very close to being achieved if it wasn't for--

 

"Did you know that it was 9° in Bogotá yesterday?"

 

_what_

"And that at four at the afternoon it is more hot than nine in the morning?"

 

_the fuck_

 

"I mean it's dark by four here!" Xabi looks to the ceiling in a terribly thought out attempt to see the sky.

 

Steven removes his mouth.

 

"And! When they predict a storm here it only lasts hours but in the North of Colombia, where it meets Panama storms last for days and--"

 

"Xabi" Steven says as his fingers tighten around his keys (finally) and Xabi's wrist.

 

The man in question meets his eyes, "I have information, it is save on my phone if you---" now he's reaching for the aforementioned device.

 

"No, I believe you, mate."

 

Xabi hums contently and rocks ever-so-slightly back on the balls of his feet. "Would you instead have interest in the rain map of Tibet because I would need to connect the uh... and search--"

 

_what the fuck_

Steven lurches forward and kisses him square on the mouth. Xabi makes an "ooft" noise and lets Stevie's tongue massage him into a numb sense of silence.

 

They slide in through the door and the keys are thrown across the room, landing with a clatter that Xabi would be interested in exploring and probably repeating a few more times so that he could accurately determine whether or not his hypothesis is scientifically sound. (He'd need to have a control test so that the variables wouldn't--)

 

Steven's finger's dance across his hairline suggesting that he probably doesn't have time to complete such observations. "Stevie--" he tries.

 

"Nope."

 

\---

 

Xabi hands Stevie a hot chocolate and curls up beside him on the couch to nuzzle at his throat. The sleeve of his sweater scratches against the growth of stubble gracing the skipper's face. Xabi notes (proudly) that: _joder, este (su) hijo de puta looks fucking fine and jesus he's aging well_.

 

Delicate is Stevie's placement of the steaming mug on the table in front of them. Less delicate is his placement of Xabi beneath him on the couch. An "ooft" is repeated and Stevie smirks down at him, pins Xabi's hands above his head and pushes a knee between the coarse hair of the Spaniard's thighs.

  
He's got him now, veins and patience, dick and heart straining for his touch. Stevie goes for the crease of Xabi's neck once more. Why this _(his)_ goofball had to strip down to boxers yet put a shirt and sweater on is beyond Steven. He tugs the acrylic both up and away from his target's body and sucks down on Xabi's throat as his fingers begin to trace their path down Xabi's belly. The pads of his fingertips stroke soft waves down Xabi's stomach and Stevie impatiently sucks a bit harder too.

 

Xabi surges up, cranes his neck slightly and Steven thinks that this will be the most time-efficient mark he's ever left on Xabi's body until--

 

"Y'know-- really, they should be playing a one-four-three-two structure instead of this insignificant four-four-one-one thing that is--"

 

 _Okay,_ Steven realises. _There is a match on._ Okay, _it's not as though I'm so terrible with my mouth or hand that Xabi is just trying to find any available outlet_ _for whatever is pent up inside him._

"Steven? Do you agree?"

 

Stevie flicks his tongue against the sleek skin beneath his mouth.

 

"Steven?"

 

_the hell is going on_

 

He grits his teeth, jaw tensing. "Xabs, do we really have to do this now?" he asks, the palm of his hand pressing against his waistband alluding to the onslaught he wants to initiate on Alonso's groin in the coming minutes (hours) (days??).

 

The brow of the man below him furrows. "Why would we not do this now? I thought you liked it when we spoke about the implications of structural flaws."

 

Steven scratches at the back of his own neck. "Uh,"

 

Xabi ruffles Stevie's hair with a disarming naivety, "So. Surely you are not all for the tragic four-five-one mess?" he purrs.

 

\---

                                   

By the time they make it inside the bedroom Steven is significantly embarrassed for the both of them. He's got his hands under Xabi's shirt though, so he can't complain too much. The starchy cotton rubs beneath his thumbs and yet he's almost waiting for it now.

 

"I ironed this shirt today." Xabi says proudly.

 

Steven grins back at him. "Really?"

 

"Yes." Xabi straightens. "Can you not tell?"

 

"I can tell." He palms from the collar down to the fourth button. "It looks good." His eyes darken. " _You_ look good."

 

"Well, of course if you mix the water with lemon juice then---" Xabi's eyes flare with lust as if he's just catching up, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. "Would you like to take it off?"

  
He spreads his arms.

 

Buttons fly off.

 

The planes of his chest bathe in the scarcity of light and the depth of Steven's heart.

 

Someone is pushed onto a bed.

 

\---

 

They're grinding each other up against the bed-head in some kind of ridiculously futile battle to overpower the other. Xabi's fingers are curling around Steven's hip as he licks persistent lines down the man's stubbly jawbone.

 

Yet there is that competitive streak bleeding through.

 

In an attempt to acquire the upper hand Stevie slips (away), sinks (to his knees) and sucks. Xabi groans _, his_ upper hand ending up somewhere in Steven's hair.

 

The Spaniard bucks his hips. "Motherfucker" he mutters distractedly, as his unoccupied fingers seek something out from the floor.

 

Stevie looks up at him. Feels a little embarrassed as Xabi grips the collar of his peacoat (jesus when did that even come inside?) and forages around in one of the pockets.

 

So he runs his teeth along Xabi's shaft and Xabi finally meets his eyes. "Steven," he starts, "have you started Christmas shopping?"

  
"No" Stevie says, mouth still around Xabi's cock. Earnestly, he presses his tongue into the leaking slit of Xabi's head. Awaits the rest of the conversation.

 

"I only ask, because I just remembered that there was, a, uh... two Lego sets for the same money as one Lego sets sale on, and I thought-- well, no it is probably silly."

  
Stevie pulls off, wipes at his mouth, coughs a little. "What were you thinking, hey?"

 

Xabi hands him the coupon. "We could share it on the girls, maybe."

 

Nodding, Stevie takes the magazine clipping, places it on the bedside table. "That's a good idea," he says, watching the man in front of him.

 

"Sorry, for---" Xabi chews on his lip "for... interruption." He finishes.

 

Stevie's eyes soften, "'s alright, yeah" he smiles, carding his fingers through Xabi's fringe.

\---

 

"Mmmh, joder," Xabi bites into dip in Stevie's shoulders, "w-wait--" he says as Steven's reaching for the lube. Steven waits. "Did you know that the life span for a female silvery woolly monkey is most debatable bec--"

 

"Mate, stop."

  
Xabi quietens. Looks at Steven.

 

"Hey, do you not want this? Because that is totally okay, alright?"

 

Xabi shakes his head slowly. "Is not that."

 

"Then you gotta talk to me, Xab. Not just... at me. You gotta use your words properly, yeah?

 

"Oh," Xabi says, "okay." He swallows. "Can I fuck you instead?"

 

"Is that what this mess has been about?"

 

Xabi shrugs hesitantly, nods slightly.

 

"You little shit, Alonso. Of course you can."

**Author's Note:**

> -this was so freakin' fun to write. 
> 
> -i'm trying to work a little harder on xabi's prose, but y'know- is difficult.
> 
> -any spanish is just swearing.
> 
> -life expectancy of the woolly monkey is highly contentious (because my two google searches presented me with either-) 7/8 years or 30 years. so please, comment the truth!


End file.
